Springtime in Our Hearts
by Musou Misora
Summary: A piece of fluff for Valentine's Day. If the stores and catalogues can do it, why can't I? Summary: Sometimes it's best to just let some things run their courses. Pairing: RonHermione.


**Springtime in Our Hearts**

By Musou Misora

Disclaimer: All characters, canon, etc. belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is OotP-compatible (although it has nothing to do with anything).

Short, fluffy nonsense written in anticipation of Valentine's Day (hey, the stores and catalogues do it, why can't I?).

* * *

"This is unbelievable! The symbols don't even make sense – it's not spring, why are there flowers? And the _arrows_! Completely masochistic in my opinion! And the way everyone _acts_! Why, it's absolute nonsense!"

_Apparently_, thought Harry, _Hermione's opinions of Valentine's Day have become somewhat negative since second year. Besides, it's spring _somewhere_ in the world…_

"Harry, are you even listening?" demanded the girl beside him. Hermione's eyes bored through his body like drills. She didn't even wait for his answer before continuing her tirade. "Anyway, people have warped the true meaning of the day: it's _supposed_ to be _Saint_ Valentine's Day. He was some kind of martyr in the Catholic Church in the third century; I believe it was circa A.D. 269…"

Ginny and Neville smiled sympathetically at Harry; everyone knew why Hermione was railing so heavily against the popular holiday. Only one month prior, Ron had abruptly dumped Hermione in favour of _Pansy Parkinson_ and hadn't spoken to either Harry or Hermione ever since. The brown-haired Head Girl had recovered quite nicely from the _ahem_ shock a mere few hours after but had become increasingly volatile since the news of the Valentines Ball had arrived in the Gryffindor common room. The past few days had Harry stuck in a Hermione-induced daze, wishing silently during her rants that the seven dwarves merrily whistling and digging in his brain would go home from work permanently.

In other words, Harry wanted Hermione to drop the tough-girl-on-the-rebound act: NOW.

"Blah, blah, blah, making a spectacle of themselves, _honestly_, blah, blah, blah," said Hermione.

"Do you love him, Hermione?" Harry asked. The words stopped falling from the witch's lips as she gaped at her friend. The Gryffindor common room fell silent. Harry could feel the seven dwarves retreating slowly as their _very_ pregnant silence grew.

Hermione's mouth finally closed, and she turned away from him stiffly. So that Harry _almost_ didn't notice it, the common room emptied until they were the only two left.

The silence was like a warm blanket covering the Boy-Who-Lived; he could feel the heat spreading through him as Hermione pondered his question (or looked like she was). Just as Harry was about to giggle (the euphoria of not hearing her was too much for him), it began to recede.

"I don't think that question is relevant," Hermione replied sullenly. Harry figured that was as close as she would get to pouting. "And it's very rude of you to ask! I would have thought that _you'd_ have more tact than that!"

Harry was about to defend himself with the ever-useful 'I'm a boy' argument mixed with the 'I'm the Boy-Who-Lived not the Boy-Who-Had-Massive-Amounts-of-Tact-Stored-in-His-Body' he and Ron had developed in sixth year when Ginny's face came into his vision. The youngest Weasley was furiously motioning with her hands, pointing to her hair then mouthing a short, three-letter name at him…

_Ron!_

Ron was coming! While Hermione continued to point out his numerous faults (which were all standard issue in boys), Harry began to think of ways to direct her attention from the sound of the portrait door opening which oddly enough was resounding throughout the common room at that very moment…

Hermione paused long enough to notice Ron's tall figure making its way toward the couch in which the two were seated. Harry slowly inched away as Hermione's anger redirected itself to the errant third of the usual party. Unfortunately for him, both of his friends noticed before he could get too far (by now Ron was entrenched into a rant of his own).

"You stay right where you are!" they both shouted at him. Harry immediately sat properly in the loveseat (_rotten name for a sofa,_ he thought) and folded his hands in his lap.

They continued on like this for ten minutes or more (Harry lost track) before Ron finally gained the upper hand.

"Now just hold on a moment!" yelled the young man. "I went through the trouble of persuading Parkinson to help me make a suitable bouquet and sonnet for you just so I could get yelled at? There's something wrong with this!"

"YOU went through trouble?" retorted Hermione. "That's absolutely—wait, bouquet and sonnet? For me?"

Harry blinked. Ron nodded. Hermione _sighed_.

"Oh, _Ron_…"

The bouquet and sonnet were produced, the entire tale of their creation told, and events were finished off by Ron asking Hermione to the Ball and her subsequent yes and then a wonderful snogging session.

_All_ in front of Harry.

He supposed he could get away now, but the movement required might disturb them…he settled for sitting facing the fire and allowing the warm-blanket feeling to wash over him again.

Third-century martyrs had _nothing_ on him.

* * *

End!

Hope you all enjoyed this! Now don't forget to review! It's soooooo easy…

-Misora


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